


I Don't Want the World to See Me

by Petiite



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorder, Lots of Angst, M/M, Self Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, and louis tries to help him, basically harry is a sad fuck, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:08:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petiite/pseuds/Petiite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How long has he been hiding the cutting? The starving? The hate? <br/>He didn't remember anymore. He bleeds to feel alive.<br/>And that scares him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Want the World to See Me

The dripping was maddening.  _Drip. Drip. Drip._  It never stopped- the sink had been leaking the entire time that Harry was alone in the hotel room. The others had gone out for assorted reasons- Zayn was smoking in the parking lot, Niall was hungry and took Louis with him, and Liam was on the phone with his mum- all with the promise they'd be back soon. 

Two hours had passed, and Harry was beginning to feel forgotten. He was sitting on the windowsill, a large jumper protecting him from the cold air seeping through the glass. The raven-haired man had disappeared from sight ages ago, alluding to an end of the smoke break.

There was nothing for him to do.

Pulling out his phone and reading through some of his mentions on twitter, he quickly felt a heaviness in his stomach. 

**Sassyalan mentioned you: @Harry_Styles eww i just heard ur voice gross get it off the radio quick**

**IndependentSex mentioned you: have u guys ever seen @harry_styles irl? omfg he's so ugly**

**PrimeVictoria mentioned you: I saw @Harry_styles at a GAY BAR last night. guys signal boost he's gay get the fag out of the media! bad role model!**

**FackPro mentioned you: Petition to remove @Harry_Styles from @Onedirection. He's the worst in the band omfg get him out**

**Eleanorisjesus mentioned you: ugh @Harry_Styles please kill yourself you need to die #louiswillneverloveyou #eleanorisbetter**

**  
**Harry's lip was quivering, and his jaw tensed up. He'd said it before- he wishes he was the type of person who didn't care, but he was. He cared. He cared a lot.

It had gotten worse over the last month. He could hardly look at his own twitter or instagram without the burning feeling deep in the pit of his belly. It was a rushing feeling- sure, he never got public hate like Liam at that concert last week("Shut up Liam"? Really? Liam was his favorite singer in the band), but he took it a lot harder than the rest. 

Plus, hitting him in his sexuality was the worst. There was nothing  _wrong_ with being gay, even if he hadn't come out to anyone. Sure, his bandmates assumed, and yeah, he was openly bisexual in school, but that didn't matter. Why did it matter to fans if he was gay or not? Well, yes, he knew why-  _selling out, hope for future, etc_ \- management had gone over it hundreds of times. 

Feeling the tears sting at his eyes, Harry slid off the ledge and stumbled over to the bathroom. There, he could be himself. He could admit to loving his own gender. He could be quiet. He could be loud. He could cry. Most of all, he could hurt. Closing and locking the door behind him, the curly-haired boy opened the cabinet and snatched the disposable razor out of the packaging- Paul always made sure they had tons, since they were five boys who weren't allowed to grow facial hair.

He snatched a pair of nail scissors from the vanity, before doing away at the plastic shaver. This wasn't the first time he had done it, and it wouldn't be the last. Or would it? The thought briefly sped through Harry's mind, causing his breath to hitch.

What would the boys do, if he _did_ kill himself? What would they think? 

He thought about the tweets. They'd move on. They'd be better off. Harry was holding them back.

That was enough to break the dam. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and- fighting sobs- he pulled the razor blade from the discarded plastic. Stripping down to nothing and starting a bath, he lowered himself into the pathetic hotel tub. The water was hot, burning his skin as it pooled around his feet and bum, slowly filling up. 

His fingers were shaking as he loosely drew the blade across his thigh, barely slicing the skin. Swallowing and pressing down a little harder, he let out a sigh of relief as the familiar stinging sensation appeared. Blood was beading up on his leg, breaking tension and tracing lines into his scars. His leg was almost destroyed, and he refused to let any of the boys see it ever.

Once again slicing his leg, he gasped for air as he reopened one of his older cuts, drawing more blood. The feeling was so painful, yet so nice. He switched legs, carving an X into his skin. Noticing for the first time that the bath water was a deep red, Harry bit his lip and let it drain, instead switching over to the shower head.

It sprinkled water over his body- his gross, ugly,  _fat_ body. If he ate anything, it would go straight to his stomach, so he had stopped eating. It had been over two months since he had actually eaten a meal, and none of the boys had noticed anything. His body hadn't changed at all, so it's not like they would have- he's still as fat as ever, he thinks. 

The stinging was gone, replaced instead with a duller ache. His eyes closed as he thought once more to the tweets.

He should die. People are  _begging_ him to die. 

Before he could think twice, Harry shakily pressed the blade into his wrist, slitting all the way up to his elbow. He was almost surprised at how much blood there was, and immediately started panicking. 

"Oh no, oh no no no," he whispered, squeezing his upper arm, trying to cut blood flow. Now he had done it. How could he hide this from the others? He couldn't wear jumpers for the next year, no, they'd suspect something.

Trying to stand up was his next idea, but it quickly proved useless. Going lightheaded and crumbling back to the tub, he could barely fight the tears.

This was it.

He was dying.

He never got to say goodbye.

* * *

"Harry," Niall's voice laughed, him and Louis unlocking the hotel door and holding a bag of food. "We're home, finally! Got mobbed at the grocery store, can you belie-"

"Wait," his companion interrupted, putting a hand over the blond's chest. "Something's wrong."

They both went silent for a moment, hearing the shower going in the bathroom. Niall shrugged, walking forward and setting the food down. 

"So he's showering, what of it?"

"Harry  _never_ showers during the day. He's a night-shower type," Louis mumbled, knocking on the door. "Haz, is everything okay in there?"

Silence.

The irishman just stared while the carmel-haired boy started worrying. 

"Harry? Harry?" His voice was getting louder everytime, and the knocking slowly turning into banging. "Harry! Open the door!" He shrieked, tears stinging at his eyes.

"Lou, calm down. Maybe he just needed a wank, y'know?" Niall started, approaching the elder.

Louis stood back before raising his leg to kick the door in. As it connected, there was an audible  _WHACK_ and the door swung open.

He wanted to throw up.

"Oh god Niall call 999 I think he's dead," the man rambled, carefully tiptoeing to the body in the tub.

His skin was pale, contrasted heavily against his chocolate-brown curls. His ribcage- god, why could we see his ribcage?- was sprinkled with blood. His legs were stained red and scratched open. The worst part was his arm. Hanging out from the tub, draped over the side and sliced wide. Blood was draining from his forearm, dripping onto the white tile.

"Niall hurry call someone we can't lose him," he cried, trying to shake Harry. "Oh god Harry please, please wake up, oh Harry,  _please_ I need you to wake up."

The blond shouted something in the next room, but Louis' ears were ringing. He couldn't focus on anything but the color draining from his best mate's face.

Everything was a blur.

There were lights flashing, people yelling.

Hands were trying to pull him away.

Louis would scream at them. 

They were taking Harry. 

No one was allowed to take Harry.

Harry wasn't leaving him.

Lights.

Blue and red lights.

Sirens.

A black car.

A hospital.

Tears.

Lots and lots of tears.

* * *

"We aren't letting the press hear about this," Paul sighed, sitting down across from the boys. "Harry trying to kill himself would raise all sorts of hell, and we don't need that. We've gone ahead and cancelled the rest of this tour, per doctor's orders. He's going to be an outpatient-"

"Can I see him?" Louis asked, his eyes blank and emotionless. 

"Not right now, he's getting stiche-"

"I need to see him. Can I see him?"

"Louis..." Liam whispered, holding his bandmate close. "This is hard, we know. You knew Harry the best out of all of us-"

"When am I allowed to see him?"

Paul furrowed his brow in pity. The carmel-haired man didn't want pity. He wanted Harry. "Soon. As soon as he wakes up. You'll be the first, I promise. For now, let's take you four back to your hote-"

"You mean the hotel where Harry almost died? Yeah, I'm not going back there." Louis huffed, mind replaying the scene in the bathroom. 

"We'll get you to another one. Or a flat- why don't you four buy a flat? We'll be staying here until Harry is 100%, so you might as well get comfy."

The boys nodded in agreement, while Louis just stood up and stared into the operating room's window. "How long will he be watched?"

"Well, like I was saying, he's going to be an outpatient. We'll have a doctor staying with him 24/7 so he doesn't try anything, but other than that it's up to him on how long it takes to get better."

"Can I stay with him?"

"It really depends on what the doctor says is best for him, Louis. I know it's hard, but it's for Harry."

He was quiet for the longest time. The small waiting room became tense and they found it hard to breath. Liam whispered something inaudible to himself, standing and setting his hand on the eldest's shoulder. Zayn burrowed his face into his arms, soft sobs coming from his direction. Niall was still in shock, and couldn't even find words.

Louis crumbled to the ground, bawling into his hands. 

* * *

They ended up buying a small house just outside of town. It was close enough to the hospital that the boys could drive to and from should anything happen, but far enough away that nobody would find them. They weren't planning on staying forever- oh no, that would be too long- but it was a nice place nonetheless.

Louis was pacing the floor, his shoulders shaking in anxiety.

Harry was coming home.

Zayn sighed, watching the eldest from his place on the couch. They all had tried to calm him down, but there wasn't anything that could possibly make him stop.

Because Louis liked Harry.

A lot.

They were best friends, of course, and all their feelings were platonic. That's just how it was, and how it always will be. But that didn't change the butterflies deep in Louis's stomach when he heard the van pull into their driveway. 

He quickly ran upstairs to check once more that everything was okay for him, that his room was the right temperature, that there was nothing sharp, lots of books, get better cards from his family and friends, and lastly that Louis's futon was right next to the bed, just in case. He scaled the steps just in time to open the door on the first knock.

"Harry!" He smiled, relieved to see the boy with a little bit of color in his skin. It faltered, however, when he realized that the boy was in a wheelchair.

"His legs won't carry him anymore. Trauma, the doctors think." Paul stated, rolling the boy in and stopping right in front of the couch. "He's still Harry, though."

Liam crouched down next to the wheelchair. "We have a room for you upstairs- We can quickly switch it downstairs if you want," he whispered, as if the slightest noise would break him.

Harry shook his head and pointed upwards.

"Also trauma related," Paul frowned, gesturing towards his own neck. "He hasn't said a word since he woke up. His vocal cords are fine though."

"Oh Harry," Louis mumbled, wrapping his arms around his best mate's neck. "We'll take care of you. I promise to god that everything will be okay."

* * *

That night was subdued. The boys all tried to ignore how pathetic Harry looked and acted and, well, was. They had watched movies until Niall stretched and said, "bedtime!"

Louis quickly wheeled Harry to the staircase, before pausing and coming to the front. "Hold onto my neck, love," he whispered, sliding his arms under the boy's knees and waist. Carrying him bridal-style was the only way he could think of doing it, and he didn't realize it was weird until the blond made a snarky comment about it.

Harry didn't mind though.

Harry liked Louis.

Harry liked everything about Louis. 

And this made him happy.

Louis didn't want Harry to die. That means there is at least one person in the world who likes Harry. And Harry was very happy that it was Louis.

He opened the door to the bedroom and set the curly-haired boy down on a bed, forcing a smile. 

"How are you feeling, Harry? Let me get your pajamas," he mumbled, turning and ravaging through a small dresser. Finally settling on a pair of joggers and a loose jumper- Paul had mentioned that he was going to be  _very, very cold_ \- Louis turned back around and handed them to his best mate. "Do you need help, or can you handle it?"

Harry nodded, before pointing at the eldest and then himself.

"Help?"

He nodded again.

"Sounds good. Arms up," the carmel-haired boy grinned, taking off the long-sleeved shirt and quickly replacing it with the fuzzy jumper. He slid his hand under the boy's butt and lifted him while pulling off a pair of skin tight jeans that were particularly hard to remove-  _"How the fuck do you get these on oh my god."  
_

Setting the boy back down while unfolded the sweats, Louis eye's traced the scars. 

"Oh baby..." he sighed, getting down on his knees. "Can I touch?"

Harry bit his lip, before hesitantly nodding. The carmel-haired boy's hands dusted over the lines, briefly putting pressure on each one and seeing Harry's wince. He was so beautiful, and there was no reason for him to be doing this.

A small smile grazed his face as he lifted him up once more and slid the sweatpants over his long, too-skinny, bony legs. The boy shivered barely, and Louis took that as a hint to tuck him in. He layered blanket upon blanket, before clicking off the lightswitch so only a lamp was illuminating the room.

"I'll be on the floor, Harry. If you need anything, please,  _please_ wake me."

His mouthed opened and a small little croak of a "okay" came out, bringing tears to Louis' eyes.

As he stood up, Harry's arm shot out and tugged on his shirt. He brought his fingers to his lips, then gestured towards the older man's.

A blush crossed the elder's cheeks, but he smiled with a giddy feeling. He leant over the younger boy, pressing their lips together for a brief second.

"Promise me you'll get better."

Another croak, followed by a nod. 

This was just the start. The start of a long healing process. 


End file.
